I have been traveling along the dirt, mud, rocks, and spiderwebs for nearly three months now. Through the conditioning, running, and sweat I have learned this valuable piece of knowledge…
…I am not fast.
Truthfully. I frequently forget that I run with people that have been on the trails for three, five, or even ten years compared to my twelve weeks. From someone that has transitioned from the road to the rocks, it can be very hard to realize that you have to find your own pace, your own style, your own speed in the world of death defying leaps, rocky acrobatics, and meals consisting of dirt and decaying fungus.
You are truly you.
With that in mind, last week I was able to witness a unique event that I will forever store in my memory bank of “when I was trail runner” that I’ll harass great grand-children with somewhere down the road.
Due to the amount of rain we had received over a span of several days, several of our usual trails were closed while they dried out. In this event, when gathering to run, we head off to a small little trail called, “The Dog Park”. It is a six mile out-and-back trail that travels through a leash-free section of city park. For those not terrified of dogs, it has its own challenges. For those mortified of fido its mental survival is a struggle in itself.
The course is fast; it starts very rocky, but afterwards it widens out and you can get moving at a rather solid click. My goal, really since receiving a heart warming letter about someones first complete ‘Dog Park’ run (all six miles) was to complete that six miles. I started slow, hanging out in the back, walking, chatting, and watching the others head off with speed. I have learned that I thoroughly enjoy trying to catch people while running. I started moving from the last group to the mid-group, nearly tripped over two dogs and continued to try to find the head group. What was amazing is seeing that this course is a great gauge to see where your cardio stands. I ran and ran and ran and ran and tripped and ran and ran for what seemed forever. I splashed through mud, jumped through a creek bed, and scaled some old railroad ties. Before I knew it, I heard laughter…and I was at the end of the three mile jaunt.
I was breathing heavy, trying to catch my breath, and attempting to ignore the haunting reality:
Now you have to make it back to the shelter house before it gets dark.
Saying this fear out loud I believe it what spurred the next comment from the pack…
Shawn, why don’t you lead us out?
Before I continue the story; please understand the group that was at ‘the end’ of the course. A lady who had just finished a 100 mile race, a lady who caused me to dry-heave the week prior with a sub-10:00 minute mile pace, a lady who crushed her first 50K this past weekend, and a lady with insane amounts of distance races under her belt. Note the above passage…I…am…not…fast.
I almost faked an injury at that moment to prevent the reality that was coming on fast. However, my brain and legs did not meet in agreement and before I knew it I was heading out, back down the trail with one of the runners yelling, “Shawn! You’re going too fast!” knowing that I would eventually fall victim to my unknown arrogance of fear of being passed. For nearly half a mile I led the group, listening to one of the runners step right behind me step for step. It was the sub-10:00 runner; I knew I was toast. I tried as long as I could, but in a conversationalist tone, she politely asked, “Mind if I just hop around you here real quick?” If I had not been wheezing due to being out of breath, I may have sobbed slightly at how easily she made the request.
Around she went.
She disappeared for the next two miles. Meaning, that everyone else was still behind me. I tried to keep the speed fresh for the varsity squad, but they continued to talk amongst themselves while we jumped over trees, rivers, and dogs; ignoring the fact that darkness was coming soon.
Leading is weird. You do not know what you are supposed to do. You are afraid of letting people down, being ‘too easy’, or trying too hard and getting injured in the process. You know the guy that sees the attractive girl running on the street and tries to run with her, but hasn’t seen running shoes since high school? Eventually he steps away, dying, and she continues on. That, that is kind of what leading feels like. At any moment you are just waiting for your legs, heart, or lungs to stop operating (the brain already stopped because…well…you are running on dirt for fun).
Through the gasp of a fish-out-of-water I said, “I’m sorry for being slow!” while trying to scale a rocky edge to the group behind me. “Don’t worry! You’re fine, if I wanted to pass you I would have already done it*”, the runner behind me reassured me.
Through the tropically trees, rounded rocks, and muddy paths I eventually emerged from the path, feeling like Indiana Jones and a boulder flying up behind him. I had done it. The full six mile section, while leading a group on the way out. It was not a race, it was not a ‘first’, and it was not spectacular, but the reality that I was able to lead struck a note in my soul that I could not let go of.
Even if you are not fast.
Even if you are not a 100 mile runner.
When you are running with the right people.
It is alright to lead.
*I love people and their kindness. “If I wanted to pass you, I would go ahead and pass you” is such a motivating phrase of kindness…until you realize miles later how far out of your league you really are with these people.
The right words just do not exist when trying to take the joy of the running world and apply it to the digital screen. I am trying to document my attempt at working my first aid station ever, during a 100 mile trail race.
Hold your breath…
Several weeks ago I had been informed that the secret to the trail world is not just running, but immersing yourself in it like a bad ice bath. This includes doing things such as volunteering to work at an aid station.
Aid Station (Noun): Buffet with waiters and waitresses (and perhaps a random disco ball and/or ukulele). Frequently found at aid stations include pickles, Pringles, flat Coca-Cola, and an old man sleeping in a lawn chair.
Wanting to continue to strive to be like the ‘cool kids’ I signed up to work at “The Hawk” in Lawrence, Kansas. This course would handle three races, the lower mileage being a marathon (because in trail running white is black, up is down, and marathons are the short runs) and the other two being a 50 mile and a 100 mile course…I’ll let you read that again…a 100 mile course. In my lifetime I have never seen a marathon race, so to see that plus the other two adventures would be something surely I would never forget.
The race started at 6:00 AM Saturday morning on pavement due to the rain the night prior. Both the marathon and 50 mile race were 100% on pavement/gravel due to the trails being too wet from the rain. I arrived at the aid station at noon; knowing absolutely no one, getting lost at least once, and somehow the race director (RD) had planted a container of cold brew coffee in my car for me to deliver.
I was expecting to find people smiling with volunteer shirts on, and handing out water cups. What I found was possibly one of the biggest circus performances on the planet. I found people in lawn chairs, a runner sleeping on the gravel, and people picking through scores of M&M’s and peanut butter filled pretzels. If it was not for the realization of knowing I was at a race, I would have mistaken this for a cut scenes from the movie Heavy Weights. People were laughing, dancing, and just messing around. I was fearful the sun had gotten to these poor souls and it was my responsibility to rope them back into reality. Unfortunately, peer pressure is a powerful drug.
Aid stations work like this: Runner comes up to the aid station, you gently (rip) off their bottles and bladders (synthetic, not real) and ask if they want water or Tailwind (nectar of the gods). Once they are filled and you are soaked, you find the runner in a delusional state eating random things and ensuring that they are not putting small plastic objects in their mouth (spit that out!). After you have restocked their liquids, gave them a pep talk, and ensured that they ate something…including chewing on painkillers for some strange reason, you let them out of the gate like a crazy bull. Meaning…they shuffle off into sunset for another riveting 26 miles.
I am blessed to know that my years of being a water boy in high school truly paid off at the aid station. Hauling water containers, filling bladders, and being soaked were merely second nature for my nerdy soul. All the while I was laughing when a 60 year old man who was running 100 miles came down the road dancing, acting like an airplane, and singing the entire time. The sun is truly a cruel, cruel creature.
Confession; I did get misty eyed when ‘my runners’ came to the station. They are not really mine, but there were four people out in the chaos that I run with throughout the week. One killed her first marathon, one destroyed her 50 mile, and two very unstable…uh…amazing women rocked their 100 mile races. Seeing them on the path towards the station made me jump, clap, and overall look like a nerd, dork, child…everything that a cool trail runner is not.
Strange things happen when you are working an aid station; you start to have fun and you easily lose track of time. The duration I signed up to work was from noon to 6:00 PM. However, like a strange mission trip with youth, flexibility is key. We learned that the fourth loop of the 100 Mile race was going to be held on the trail. Because of this, they needed an individual to hang out in the woods and direct runners along their course and to the aid station. Meaning, I volunteered to be fed to the rabid raccoons and found myself standing in the middle of the woods.
With no light.
With no shelter.
With no hope.
By 8:00 PM my wife was sending me texts, curious as to when I was planning on coming home. I jokingly said that it would be Sunday morning. At this point my desire to capture the events taking place similar to the Blair Witch Project was in full swing on Facebook Live for the rest of the world to watch. Sadly, there are many reports of people fearing that I was intoxicated during those videos…I was 100% sober…and that is how my mind functions…daily.
By 10:00 PM the new aid station co-director had gotten into the swing of things at the station. By 11:00 PM through the woods, in the darkness, I could hear what sounded to be Burning Man Part II or 2016 Woodstock coming from the aid station.
At 1:00 AM the party was in full swing, loud music from the 1980’s was blaring, someone had gotten into a bottle of Pecan Pie Whiskey, and a ukulele was being played for every runner coming into the station. Some volunteers brought down a cup a vegan soup and a cheese quesadilla. Allow me to state that when it is 51 degrees outside and you are wearing shorts, these are the delights that keep you warm…namely the whiskey.
By 2:00 AM delusional images were coming to life and on several occasions I swore that a runner coming through with their headlamp was indeed ET trying to phone his home. When 3:00 AM hit the person sitting in the woods with me and myself had finished all of the world’s problems, analyzed the political philosophy of our time, and charted out half the stars in the night sky. Truly, we were productive.
4:00 AM passed and I was considering my poor life choices over a small bowl of ramen noodles (turns out that is a favorite dish amongst the runners late in the night) with my closest friends. A random stranger had my car keys for safe keeping, and the 200 yard trip between the aid station and my ‘look out point’ was the most dangerous trail run I have ever attempted. I even witnessed a runner or two take a shot of Fireball for safe measures on their way out.
Around 5:00 AM I saw one of my friends (aka: the person who dragged me into this world to begin with) as she prepared for her final section of the 100 mile race. Seeing her so happy, so strong, and so focused made my numb body from the cold just light up in warmth and joy. Through all the partying in the night, nothing surpassed seeing someone so happy with their future accomplishment (she went on to win third female overall and finished under 24 hours).
At 7:30 AM I was trying to figure out how I wound up in the middle of nowhere through my daze of fatigue and lack of water. I saw my other ‘my runner’ passing through. I could have cried for her because of how hard she was working. She finished in 28 hours with either a sprain, strain, fracture, or amputated foot. This too was her first 100 mile race.
With her passing by, I knew my time had expired. I had fought the good fight, somehow my legs were covered with mud, I had witnessed all ‘my runners’ in their amazing glory, and twenty hours after the beginning of this adventure I sent a short text to my wife:
Coming home. Shower. Sleep. Biscuits and gravy. Not necessarily in that order.
I bid a kind, warm farewell to the aid station that had taught me so much about life, love, and the liberty of the trail runner. I found my friend that had already finished her 100 mile, gave her a high five, and unapologetically stated…
When I grow up, I want to be like you.
At 9:00 AM, and I am still trying to figure this one out due to the insane amount of fatigue, I wound up in the driveway of my home 75 miles and nearly 24 hours away from the beginning of this adventure. I proceeded to sleep for nearly another 18 hours without a single regret.
My weekend as a volunteer summed up in two words: no regrets.
EDIT: Please NOTE: NO runners were lost, or misdirected, or not 110% well taken care of with whatever their needs might be: hydration, soup, quesadillas, buffet of food and soda options, massaged feet/back/shoulders/calves/quads, blister care, etc… whatever they need, we aim to please.
At 3 a.m., I’d like to think we were an oasis of energy for the runners and crew to draw from and continue on their journeys.
Over the past several weeks, enjoying this new world of trail running, I began to search for why so many trail runners were not in their 20’s, but instead were in their 30’s, 40’s, and 50’s when it came to age. As one runner put it when I inquired about it, the reality is that this kind of running requires patience. Young runners don’t have that patience yet, so they tend to stay away from this form of sport. They are all about their splits, staying within time, striding out, and speeding down the asphalt. There is nothing wrong with that concept for many, but for some we need a different form of motivation.
Last Saturday I laced up for a fun run with a few runners from our local running team; Team Run816. The route was just a chat trail that laced through the south end of the city. Some would do two miles, some four, and some more. No race, no purpose, just running. I had decided earlier in the day that I would log 4 miles and enjoy my Saturday. A week removed from my first trail race adventure had me thirsty for more, but also a small voice in the back of my head telling me that I was tired. I had logged 16 miles for the week, had some cramping issues on Thursday, and even I could express that I was tired.
At the turnaround of my four mile course I noticed that one of the faster runners, a running coach, a trail runner, an ultra runner was quickly going to cross paths with me at the turnaround*. Personally, I became extremely scared. Nothing is more terrifying then being tired, running heavy, and seeing a running coach fly up behind you. I embraced for the worst as I trucked along.
When she caught up, the first words caught me off-guard:
Are you alright? Let’s stop and walk this section.
Years of experience probably led her to already understand and see that I was worn out and not moving very fluid. We walked for about ten minutes and then picked up the pace again. Through this process she talked the entire time (I’m still trying to figure out how people talk and run at the same time, my ‘yes’ usually comes out as a *gasp*) about trail running, training, and patience.
She told me that I had been trying to stack too much on after my first trail race, and I needed to lighten the load a bit. She suggested running with my wife, spending time on my feet, but not pushing myself to new levels the week after a race.
One of the biggest problems in the trail running community is seeing younger people come up through the ranks, fly through the courses, and then after about three years they are worn out, burned out, and done with trail running. It is a serious risk that exists for people who are not patient with their training, and potentially even more importantly their overall recovery. Trail running requires an insane amount of patience. You are building your body, slowly and safely, to take on extreme mileage. Think about all the training a road runner has to do to prepare for a half-marathon; now calculate that into mileages beyond a marathon on an unstable surface.
When I have someone finish a 100 mile race, the next day they are required to take a 30 minute walk. It keeps them loose, but doesn’t overdue it in light of what they have just accomplished.
In my case; I’m brand new to trail running. I had my first race, and it was a brutal experience. The temptation is to hop right back out and keep going, but when we are patient we allow that fire of desire to burn and smolder; making each trip out that much more enjoyable.
Upon learning all of this on a two mile trip back to our local coffee shop, I made some adjustments this week. My wife and I went out of town for our anniversary, and I did not run a single one of those days.
Waiting makes the experience that much more enjoyable.
Throughout my life I have quickly given up on establishing the joys of “my first”. Each and everyone of them (kiss, job, car, trail race…) have all had odd quirks that really take away from the Disney enchantment factor of new adventures.
Psycho Psummer (10 mile edition) was no different, and completely fulfilled my destiny for continuations of awkward, odd, and overall painful experiences within my life.
To set the tone for last Saturday’s race, I first must establish where I was physical the night prior. After work I had driven down to the hotel closest to the course to pick up my race packet. I didn’t make it a half mile from the hotel before I had to lock myself in a very sketchy bathroom at a local gas station for thirty minutes while emptying everything out of my digestive system.
Needless to say I was rather nervous.
Understand that prior to this race the furthest I had ever ran in my life was nine miles, and that was the prior Saturday with the trail running group that was eating pickles along the way. In fact, when it came to ‘racing’ the only experience I had was 5K’s on asphalt.
This choice still has God laughing at me for my prideful endeavors.
The start of the race at 9:00 AM Saturday morning at Wyandotte County Lake (WyCo) immediately set the tone for my day. I was one of few that was wearing a full hydration vest; this should have been a red flag for me.
The first four miles were a horrific experience, straight out of a Stephen King novel, if Mr. King found entertainment in torturing people through athletic events instead of clowns. It wasn’t asphalt we were running on, it was dried Missouri Mud paths laced with jagged rock. Meaning, it wasn’t hard like asphalt, it was hard like concrete with holes that could shatter your ankles with one wrong step, or just slice to you to ribbons like some anime horror episode.
Did I mention that the beginning of the race was right around 86°F?
At the first aid station I truly wanted to
puke die. My stomach was in an awful knot, and I was terrified of being that person that was going to defecate in my shorts while trying to finish the course. Thankfully, a running partner from my Monday runs (bad word choice) was at the first station and immediately suggested ginger ale. Now, I understand that you have to be 60 year of age or older to enjoy ginger ale, but I hit that stuff at every aid station like it was going out of style and it fixed my stomach. Praise Jesus for ginger ale*.
By mile four I was wheezing, heaving, and having a splendid time. It was at that point that I could hear the light footsteps of a secret, pixie/ninja coming up behind me. The footsteps drew near at a rapid pace, I stepped to the side to allow them through. Before I knew it, with a giggle, a smile, and a wave the winner of the Western States 100 mile trail race flew by me as she bounced between each rock.
You’re doing great!
I clapped for her…and cried for myself.
Six miles to go…
At mile seven I was talking to myself, rationalizing my poor choices in life, and wondering when the next 50K runner was going to pass me without sweating. That’s when I saw the sign…
You’re NOT almost there, but you look fabulous!
Do you know how the brain handles wording like this after baking in the heat for two hours? I threatened the air in front of me with anger and cursing. I knew I wasn’t close, but I also knew I didn’t look good at all. The race photographer left when he saw me coming down the trail.
A quarter of a mile later, another sign caught my attention along the trees…
Run now. Poop later. Never trust a fart.
Somehow, someone had made a sign that had categorized the beginning of my morning with colorful markers.
By mile seven I had made it to another aid station; it was maintained by the group that I run with on Monday nights. There were sprinklers, and dogs, and children, and a man running around in a pink bikini…everything made sense since my brain resembled the artistic rendition of scramble eggs. It was at mile seven that I began to really understand that in races where heat is an issue, the hydration vest isn’t the best option because it weighs you down and your body can’t breathe under the material. Make no mistake, I love UltrAspire and my vest, but this was a day where the vest had a fault. Running is bad, running in heat is worse, running in heat with a weight vest because you want to be the next great Wilt-the-Stilt Chamberlain is an overall horrible idea.
Moving to mile nine I came across the ‘three sisters’ (there is better R-rated terminology to describe this geological wonder). I was grateful when I saw a 50K runner pass me, stop halfway up one of these abominations on this planet, take a deep breath, and continued to climb. For a split second the elite and myself, the
peasant, were on the same level and that felt good.
By mile 10 my brain was no longer functioning, I think I was drooling, and my stubborn legs just kept moving. Hallelujah that I grew up hating country music, because I flew in the last half mile when I heard the music from the start/finish line transition to Blake Shelton talking about some beach that I will never see.
At mile 10.5 I crossed the finish line in three hours and six minutes, and in 96°F heat with a 103°F heat index. I had consumed 5 liters of liquid through that trek, and lost about another half liter afterwards in the form of salty tears.
Now, after the accomplishment of this train wreck of ego and pride, there is only one question that I can even humor to ask myself…
When can I do that again?
*Turns out that I was not the only one with digestive issues on the course. All aid stations and the main station ran completely out of ginger ale towards the end of the race because so many people were consuming it at the stations.
Go ahead! Grab a pickle, I have them right here!
At 7:00 AM CST in the summer month of July, a random Saturday, I joined a group of 20+ people and embarked on a memorable journey through woods, rocks, mud, and everything else you could imagine.
I decided to take on “WyCo”.
A little background…Kansas City, surprising to many, has several elaborate trail routes throughout the metro area. They are found on all four sides of the city, and range from lakeside trails, urban rock trails, and a combination in between. Elevations vary, and there is a unique organization that ensures that they are kept in stellar condition by closing them when it rains. “WyCo” is short of Wyandotte County Park. Located in the far northwest corner of the Kansas City area “WyCo” is where runners go to train for all the other courses in the region. In other words; if you can survive “WyCo”, in theory you should be able to survive anything.
It all started with a simple question on Facebook; one of the local runners was curious about the new ‘summer loop’ at WyCo and wanted to run it. This spurred on a conversation that lasted for most of the week prior to the run. In total 23 people from around the region showed up to explore this new route. The ‘summer route’ is a 10.5 mile loop that will be used during the “Psycho Psummer” race hosted by the local group, the Trail Nerds.
I tried to explain on Facebook that I was slow, otherwise I would join them. However, my plea for pity fell on deaf ears. All people were wise and wanting for me to explore “WyCo” with them. I had no choice because something in my soul, the pit of it, was saying that this experience might be fun.
The group began with a very light jog through the grass to beginning of the trail system. At “WyCo” there are two types of trails; one set is closed when it rains, the other set is not. This loop we were taking was a combination of both. For the first mile to two miles I trekked through mud and water that soaked my feet (I was later laughed at for referring to this as muddy, as I was informed this is the driest “WyCo” has been in years). After churning through that mess I was blessed with six miles of groomed trails, major thanks to the local Boy Scout troops for maintaining it, and was kicked out on the dam of Wyandotte Lake. At this point, since I don’t wear a GPS watch, I had assumed that we had completed three to four miles. We were just under two hours, I was in the back of the overall group, so I assumed that it had felt like three miles.
By the time I met with large groups again it had turned out that we had already covered six to seven miles. Only three miles remained on the course. This was mind-blowing for myself; I had never gone running and underestimated how far I had run. This was largely in part to myself being well hydrated, my joints didn’t ache, and I had people that were pacing with me through most of the trip. Those elements really take away from the daunting experience of that many miles through singletrack trails.
While I was glowing in knowing that I was doing relatively well, I had begun to pick up on people making note of an event ahead…
The three sisters are coming. They’re in the last mile of the route.
I have learned that any geographical area that gets its own nickname is something to be cautious about.
They were not kidding.
The final mile of the loop, which will be the final mile of the upcoming race, is met with three very disturbing hills. The first is extremely length, the deep ruts ‘swallow you’ at one point, and in many instances runners have stopped half way up the hill, sat down, and cried. The second wasn’t as bad, but that is because the perspective of the first is still fresh in your head. The final hill is just awful because you already covered the first two. Mind you, this is the end of the course. Meaning, you have already logged eight to nine miles, you are fatigued, and this is standing in your way before you can finish. Make no mistake, it is very hard. There are running groups that come out just to run the ‘three sisters’ for hill training.
The nice part is understanding that after you have completed that last hill, there isn’t even half a mile left before you are finished.
What I Learned:
I am so, so grateful I went off on this journey. One main reason was being able to tell myself that I can maintain myself that long on a run. Prior to that event last weekend I had only ran seven miles on a road without stopping. Being able to log these miles was a huge self-esteem boost for next weekend. The second reason I’m
grateful for this experience is because it gave me a course outline of the upcoming race. I am registered to run this exact course, so knowing what to expect at each juncture throughout the course is relieving. When signing up for a race, be sure that you have taken the time to do appropriate research. Unlike a road race, Google Maps may not show you every tip and trick for the upcoming course.
Finally, as I’m continuing to learn over and over and over. The trail running community is extremely close-knit. I once read that trail racing is not you against the other person; it is you against the mountain, the path, your demons, yourself, the mileage, etc…This has to be one of the few sports out there were the people around you are not just only the competition, but also your friends.
Happy Jul 4th and welcome to Mound City, Missouri! You will need to watch out for tractors, lawn mowers, and an occasional lost cow wandering the streets. Each Fourth of July this small farming community gets together for their annual parade, and the Red Rock 5K Fun Run. 2016 marked their 26th running of the event. Meaning, for 26 years this town of 1000 people have been hosting this race.
Do not allow the size of the town fool you on the talent of the running pool, or the kindness (lack there of) of the course.
For a low sum of $25 you can enter into the Red Rock 5K Fun Run. The course is all road, so lace up your best shoes for asphalt pavement. It is vital to note that Mound City is located on the bluffs of the Missouri River in far Northwest Missouri. “Bluff” is a geographical term used to identify large rolling hills along both sides of a river basin. Understanding this key part is vital for your success at Red Rock.
The course is a hybrid of a circuit and a down-and-back. You do end where you start, but the trip back is different from the trip to the halfway point. Taking the route will guide you through the residential section of Mound City. You’ll see Mound City R-2 schools, three parks, and will be able to locate the golf course if someone asks you. Local police do block off the main highway portions of this course to local traffic. Overall the community loves the event, so everyone gets along swimmingly.
Oh, there’s one thing you should be aware of when starting out on this course from the parking lot of the Dollar General.
Check this out; the entire 1.4 miles to the turnaround point is uphill. Overall it is nearly a 200 foot climb in elevation. This includes a one portion that with a 6% grade, another portion with a 4% grade, and two sections with a 3% grade. If you’re not ready for some chronic, constant climbing this little course will doom you from the beginning.
The good news to this is what comes up…must come down, and the courses comes down quick. This includes nearly a half mile (2.5-3.0) at a -4% grade. Prepare your knees accordingly.
Appreciate what people do for you. As humorous as it is to find small town races (and the secrets that they have in them), the reality is that it still takes a lot to put on each race. With a fee of $25, Red Rock depends a lot on corporate sponsors in the area for support. Look forward to a t-shirt and a bottle of water upon finishing. If you are crazy fast (see ‘The Results’) there is a chance for a 1st, 2nd, or 3rd place medal from your respective age group and overall.
On top of the course challenges are the runners as well. Growing up in the area I understand the work ethic of farming communities. However, I’m a strong advocate for noting these small towns need cross country teams. I say that due to the marvelous speed that some people put on. A 30:00.00 5K would place in the bottom 1/4 of the group for perspective, and this year someone from North Brooklyn Running Club was there to put on a show also (yes, as in Brooklyn, New York).
A quick word about small town races; they will go one of two ways. It could be a great place for you to win if the field is small and the course is smooth…or…it could be similar to qualifying for the Olympics in mountain goat racing.
***End of Review, Continue for My Results***
Four years ago my girlfriend (now, wife) and I found this little 5K race. It was her first ever 5K, so it seemed safe. I even ran/walked the majority of it with her and had a pretty good time. Things have changed in those four years. While I did not hit a PR today, I did surprisingly come close to it. I’ll admit that the uphill for half the course is just brutal if you are not prepared, and let’s be real, I’m never fully prepared for anything that has to do with running.
Consistency has definitely been afoot this year during the races. This is the fourth race this year that I have finished fourth in my age group. Personally, I will admit that I was disappointed with myself, and the effort put a bit of a damper on the 4th of July holiday.
More importantly though, it signaled my transition. Today’s race was the last one that I’ll be training for on the road. I’ve learned a lot through the process of training on trails, and I look forward to heading into the jungle more frequently for actual competitions (my wife said she would come along too).
In order to expand your ability as a runner, it’s crucial that one is constantly looking for new adventures. Since last weekends race series is now at a close, I found myself starting to feel the temptations of ‘burnout’ along the 5K road races. The burnout sensation is far more fearful to my soul compared to that of injury or death; I don’t want to lose the fire of loving to run. Obviously, to prevent that from happening, I needed to make some adjustments.
Enter the MudBabes. Yes, this a real group of people out here in the flyover land of the United States. Each Monday evening they get together and take off for a few (several) miles along the trails of our countryside. One of their runners had invited me out to run along with these lovely folks. Aiming for a change of pace for myself, and perhaps a new vested interest in the running world I took the challenge to meet up with them on this warm evening.
It was going to be great to make new friends…
…or die at the feet of their own dedication to the trail gods.
June 20, 2016–Shawnee Mission Trails, Kansas: I had arrived fifteen minutes early to the trailhead where we would be taking off. I had finished my second peppermint and my first bottle of water. The air temperature was 94°F, the humidity added placed it near the 100°F mark. It is Kansas, this is not uncommon for 5:50 PM in June.
The group of MudBabes began to gather near one of the vehicles in the parking lot. While I was awkwardly awaiting seeing someone I actually recognized I began to view the trail routes along a board near the road. On this map I found cross country trails, hiking trails, walking trails, and mountain biking trails. There were so many options to choose from! Running along the asphalt trail lines through the park, gliding through the grass of a cross country course, or even enjoying a little bit of scenery on a hiking trail. How awesome could any of those options be?
We chose the mountain biking course to run on.
The. Mountain. Biking. Course.
Now, at 94°F it came to no surprise that these runners came prepared. They were in lightweight gear, several had head covering of some sort, and 99% of the group had either a hydration backpack or a bottle that is semi-permanently attached to the hand. I was the 1%. Years of knowledge (foolishness) had taught me that I do rather well on runs when it is hot outside and water isn’t easily accessible. I drink before and after, and I’m fine. Granted, that’s not the same as running on nature’s staircase worth of tree roots for miles on end. I assured the group that I was fine, and we began our ascend.
Trail running can easily be misunderstood in the non-running community. To many that means asphalt paved park controlled sidewalks or gravel/chat paths that carve along lakesides. However, what trail running really means is finding a way to introduce Mother Nature to parkour. Meaning, if she made it, you can run on it or over it.
The beginning of that path wasn’t even flat. I was learning to jog while both my feet were on two separate angles. Meaning, my brain had to control two feet at two angles that were determined to go forward in the same direction. My brain hurt from thinking within the first half mile.
Once we started moving, the trail was explained to us. The orange trail was 2.5 miles and the purple trail would wind up ending at 4.5 miles. We’d start on the orange and halfway we’d split to the purple, or stay on the orange. The choice was to each runner.
At this point it needs to be expressed that ‘MudBabes’ and ‘elite’ are two words that go hand-in-hand (I’d also personally add the words ‘Suicide Squad’ to the mix). I enjoy my 5K accomplishments on Saturday mornings. These folks enjoy their 25K, 50K, 50 mile, and 100 mile accomplishments. Ultra-marathon runners, heard of those folks before? The people that run for over 24 hours…straight? That was who I was running with into the gates of the hell on this day.
I confess, I started my course off fast. I was passing people, clearing roots, and just having the time of my life. That was for the first half mile, and one of the runners even made note that it isn’t wise to start fast. By the time the first mile had passed I was stumbling over roots, I was out of breath, and my head was spinning from trying to keep my feet moving correctly while dodging the Aggro-Crag death traps of razors rocks to each side of me. That’s when the same runner gave me solid advice; when we start to wear down we are more susceptive to tripping, falling, and becoming injured. Not finishing a trail race to an injury is not uncommon.
Originally, I thought, “I need to get my mileage in. So, obviously I need to take the 4.5 mile path today.” At the moment of the crossroads between orange and purple my thought had changed slightly to, “Sweet mother. I’ll take orange right now if it means that I can get out of this Hunger Games style running.” Over and over again I had heard, “2.5 miles on a trail really does feel like 4 miles”, which then made me wonder, “How on earth do you mentally survive 100 miles on this stuff?”
Thankfully, only a few runners went with the purple path. Many MudBabes were running races this weekend that involve 50K, 50 Mile, and 100 Mile courses. Understand, that unlike a 5K, you shouldn’t run a set of these races back-to-back in a weekend. The body can only handle so much and stress fractures are a serious and common threat to these runners.
It was on the way back to our starting point that I truly began to feel the suffering of my experience. I had started out walking on this segment. Thomas, behind me, made a statement that’ll forever resonate in my heart. Of course he said this prior to the Chubacraba I swear I heard in the trees:
Don’t worry, trail running is addictive. Once you spill a little blood to the trail gods, you’re forever hooked.
There is something to be said about the painfully addictive principles of trail running. Your body is required to work overtime to focus and keep pace. You are surrounded by nature in its entirety. Plus, no one can hear you scream at the time of your demise. Truly, trail runners are a very special group of people. Trail running is an event that does encourage the person to see how far the human body really can go in a certain amount of time.
At routes end I finally began to realize the poor, poor choice of not having water with me. Unfortunately the heat was taking its toll, and on several occasions I was told to go get my water from the car. When I arrived at the car I was cramping up with a horrible headache. Meaning, I was suffering from the heat. To further add pain to misery, this park was 40 minutes west of my house. Between that park and my house the temperature had dropped 20°F and it was pouring down rain.
I nearly cried.
As I stepped into the house, my wife, knowing of my foolish tendencies, looked at me and asked, “So, how was your run?” All while trying to not let her smile show. I gave her the rundown, the outline for this entry, and while I was searching for ice and something to eat…like a true new believer…I stopped and said:
I can’t wait until we meet again next week.